by Debra Glass
She scrabbled with her knees to grind her clit against his pubis but the contact never lasted long enough before he propelled her up his length again. The head of his cock caressed that magical spot just inside her passage, teasing her toward ecstasy.
“Please, Adam, please…”
His movements slowed. His body tensed and then his head fell back against the squabs. With his eyes shut tightly and his lips parted in a silent breath, he looked like a fallen angel but she only had a scant second to admire him. The slower grinding gave her the friction she needed to find her own release.
Hauling her against him he stroked her hair, her back and her thighs even as her body clenched in pleasure around him. He hadn’t said the words. But even so Primrose felt a change in his touch, in his kiss.
For the first time in her life she felt she’d found the safe haven she’d sought. Releasing a deep breath she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, basking in this moment, in their connection.
She’d waited so long for this and still she couldn’t shake the feeling that it could all be snatched from her grasp.
* * * * *
Adam was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep. After they’d arrived back at Scarborough Hall, he’d carried Primrose up the backstairs and put her in her bed. At once, she snuggled into the covers and before he could kiss her goodnight she’d drifted off.
He’d started to undress and climb in beside her but though his eyes felt full of grit sleep was impossible. She’d declared her feelings for him. And not only that. Her actions had proved her love.
Over the years he’d taken various women to the club. Women who’d avowed love for him. They had all—without exception—submitted gleefully to whomever served as the evening’s dungeon Master.
At that point he’d known their frivolous sentiment tended toward the punishments rather than himself.
Primrose was the first to refuse, to wear a collar only for him.
Of course he knew her aversion to Benedict. Even given her distrust of the man, if her love was questionable, she would have submitted simply because he, Adam, required it.
He inhaled, recalling the talk he’d had with his father. Primrose was to inherit millions upon the birth of a male heir. An heiress in her own right. She’d be free to do as she pleased, to return to America and live apart if she chose.
When he’d first learned of her inheritance he’d wondered if her actions were a ruse to seduce him into fathering a child. But after tonight he knew better. And should have realized it earlier. There was nothing duplicitous about Primrose.
His lips drew into a little smile as he gazed at her sleeping soundly, the highlights in her hair illuminated like a blazing sunset in the flickering light of the fire in the grate. God, she was beautiful with her flawless skin against the pristine white sheets. The sight of her alone caused a strange unsettled sensation in his belly.
He brushed his fingers over his abdomen.
Was this love?
Was the feeling of not wanting to awaken another morning in his life without her by his side love? His heart quickened whenever their eyes met. He couldn’t stand or sit next to her without battling the need to touch her.
If only he’d known all those years ago…
He’d been such a stubborn ass to walk out on her. He hated himself for it. For the pain he’d caused her. For the nights, hours, minutes he’d wasted out of pigheaded pride.
He didn’t deserve her love. He could never be good enough for her.
He bent to press a soft kiss to the three little moles along her jawline but stopped himself. At that moment, she seemed too pure a creature for his kisses. He straightened. She was such a tiny thing curled in the covers. Now more than ever the need to protect her, to keep her safe, to provide for her, welled like a rogue wave inside him. It terrified him in its all-consuming scope.
His rubbed his face with both hands.
Losing her would crush him far worse than any other pain he’d suffered in his privileged life and the knowledge of it shook him to the very core. And fear more than anything nagged at him to descend into the black heaven of opium.
* * * * *
Primrose stretched and smiled as the memory of the previous evening drifted back over her. It hadn’t started out very well but when Adam had swept her off that dais and made impassioned love to her in the carriage she’d known.
He loved her.
No, he hadn’t uttered the words. But somehow she knew actions were far more important to Adam than silly words.
He loved her.
She’d seen it in his eyes. Those haunting whiskey-colored eyes that dragged her in and down like a maelstrom on a stormy sea.
Her stomach tightened at the tender but fervent way he’d touched her. And after they’d arrived at Scarborough Hall he’d carried her upstairs and kissed her as he put her to bed.
Last night had altered the relationship, had clarified it. For the first time since she’d dragged him out of that opium den she could relax in the knowledge he cared for her.
But she couldn’t lie abed all day. She needed to see after the family of the driver who’d been killed. Best to get her responsibilities out of the way before she joined Adam.
Midge appeared very shortly after Primrose gave the bellpull a tug. Consumed with her new relationship with Adam, Primrose was in no mood to make small talk as Midge helped her coif her hair and then don a sky-blue day gown.
Something more somber should have been in order but Primrose couldn’t bring herself to wear a drab color. Not today.
Not after last night.
“Cook has already served luncheon but I could ask if the kitchen will send up something lighter if you prefer?” Midge inquired once Primrose was dressed.
“No bother,” Primrose told her. “I’d rather get this unpleasant errand behind me before I eat.”
“Very well, ma’am,” Midge told her. “I’ll have Cook prepare you some fruit and cheese to take along. Shall I have his lordship’s man awaken him so that he might accompany you?”
Primrose lifted an eyebrow. “His lordship is still abed?” She quelled the little smile that tugged at her lips and yet something seemed amiss. Why hadn’t he remained in her bed? She had assumed he’d risen hours ago.
“He’s neither called for his valet nor rung for food, ma’am.”
“That’s not necessary,” Primrose said. “Doubtless he’s exhausted. We had quite a late evening out. Tell Mathers to send the carriage round. Thank you, Midge. That’ll be all.”
Midge curtsied and disappeared out the servants’ entrance.
Primrose crossed the room to the connecting door between her chamber and Adam’s. Her hand hovered over the knob. She debated going in and waking him with a kiss, but she reconsidered. Best to let him rest.
Besides, she intended to keep him all to herself tonight.
* * * * *
The short trip to visit the family of Scarborough Hall’s recently deceased driver Edward Billings had proved more exhausting than Primrose had thought. The sad faces of Billings’ wife and six children had made Primrose’s heart ache.
The earl’s accounts man had mentioned a small pension for the family but Primrose intended to see that pittance doubled and employment to be found for the two teenaged boys who were old enough to work.
She’d sat in the Billings’ small hovel of a house, guilt gnawing her to the bone that she’d survived the accident with little more than a bruise or two. She could have been hurt far worse had Adam not shielded her with his own body.
After passing her hat, gloves and cloak off to a servant at the door she wearily climbed the stairs, very much looking forward to losing herself in her husband’s arms. She hoped he was in a mood to have dinner brought up to their rooms where they could relax alone.
The servants stopped and acknowledged her as she passed and went to her chamber. The room had been cleaned as usual but something didn’t feel right about it. It was too quiet. Too s
omber.
After today she needed Adam’s touch, his reassurance. Her pulse sped up as she tapped on his door.
No sound came from within.
“Adam,” she called softly and knocked again.
Still she detected no sign of stirring.
Disappointment flooded her that he might already be at dinner with Hamish and Fidelis. Heaven knew she didn’t want to face Benedict tonight. She frowned and gave the doorknob a twist.
The room was dark. The fire had burned out.
But as she opened the door wider, light from her room spilled into his, illuminating his still form on the bed.
She squinted. “Adam?”
No response.
Her body went rigid.
He wasn’t moving.
Chapter Ten
Gathering her skirts, Primrose forced her feet to move. She rushed across the room. “Adam?” Her voice rose in pitch.
He lay on his back, one hand splayed across his chest, one leg dangling from the side of the bed. His mouth gaped open and he didn’t appear to be breathing. Trembling, she pressed her hand to his forehead.
His skin was clammy and only a soft shudder told her that he was still alive. “Adam,” she called to him, praying he was only sleeping.
His eyes blinked partially open and his hand lifted heavily a mere few inches off his chest before falling back down and knocking away a brown vial. A sour taste filled Primrose’s mouth. She had to focus or else terror would take over. There had to be an explanation.
She lifted the vial and held it up in the light. Laudanum. No…
Anger warred with reason. This had to be a mistake. He wouldn’t have turned back to opium. Everything had been going so well…
Why had she told him how she felt? She’d admitted it too soon. After everything that had happened to him, he couldn’t have been prepared for her confession.
There was no other explanation.
Tears welled in her eyes and she fought the rising panic that she’d lost him to the drug again.
“Adam,” she called to him.
He squinted, his eyes working to focus. “Ben…” His voice was barely discernible.
“What?” she asked. “What are you trying to say?”
“Bene…dict.”
Cold horror swept through her. Adam’s hand grasped for hers. “Benedict…” His hand fell away and his eyes closed though he continued to mumble incoherently.
She looked at the vial again. This was the earl’s medicine. Adam had stooped so low he’d consumed his dying father’s prescription? Her shoulders drooped. The tightening in her chest made her wish she could loosen her stays.
“Oh Adam…”
After everything that had recently happened. The accident with the coach and now this…
Now this…
Her gaze riveted to her husband who was still dressed in the same clothing he’d worn the night before, including his boots. Why hadn’t he undressed?
A chill rattled her from the inside out.
“Adam!” She shook his shoulders. Hard. “Adam!”
His eyes opened, mere slits clouded with a drug-induced haze.
“Did someone give you this?” Every nerve in her body felt as if it would snap as she awaited an answer. “Did someone give you this?” she repeated.
His hand raised and he pointed toward his wardrobe. “Pis…tol.” He shifted restlessly. “Find…Ben…”
Pistol? Dear Lord. Whatever fo—
Sick knowledge sank straight to her toes. Benedict had sabotaged the coach. Benedict had poisoned the earl. Benedict was poisoning Adam!
The vial clattered to the floor as she brought her hand to her throat. A physician. She needed a physician. Now!
Fear gripped her but she grabbed the bellpull and didn’t stop yanking it until Adam’s valet appeared.
“Your Grace,” he greeted, eyes quickly widening when Primrose whirled to face him.
“I need the physician. Is he still here attending the earl?”
The valet stammered.
“Is he here or not?” she demanded, her voice echoing off the paneled walls.
“I think he has departed, ma’am. But only just.”
“Send someone after him. And hurry!” she called after the valet’s back. “Please hurry! And send up Mr. Forbes. I need to speak with him.” Hamish would know what to do.
Primrose hoped they found the physician in time. Her heart thundered as she dampened a cloth in Adam’s washbasin. She had to keep him coherent.
Trembling, she slid onto the side of the bed and pressed the cloth to Adam’s head. “Did Benedict do this to you?” she asked. But why? It doesn’t make sense. “Adam, please stay awake. Darling…”
He fumbled for her hand. She seized it in hers and squeezed. “Please be all right. Please get through this.” Her gaze drifted again to the wardrobe where Adam had indicated he kept a pistol. She’d kill Benedict herself for this the next time she laid eyes on him.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She could barely swallow. Why had he tried to harm the earl and Adam? Why?
Benedict had never made it a secret that he wanted Primrose for his own. Was he still holding a five-year-old grudge? Had her refusal pushed him over the edge? Her blood turned to ice in her veins.
Hamish raced into the room, wearing his dinner attire. “Is he still alive?”
Relief washed through her. She released the breath she’d been holding as if Hamish’s presence would make everything all right. “Yes. Thank heavens.”
Hamish calmly closed the door behind him and then turned the lock.
Primrose blinked. Her stomach fluttered. “What are you doing? I’m expecting the physician.”
Clarity seeped through her like rivulets of water coursing down a rainspout. He knew the earl wasn’t Adam’s father. Hamish sought the title. The entailment.
Her lips parted. She stood facing him, feeling rooted to the spot, unable to move. “It was you wasn’t it? All this time you’ve been poisoning your uncle. You tried to have Adam killed in Whitechapel and then the both of us in the coach. Now this…”
She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it.
He inhaled. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt, Primrose.”
Terror ratcheted higher. She feared her heart might beat its way out of her chest. Her eyes widened as he started toward her. “Hamish, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? When my own blood kin preferred a bastard to inherit the title over me? Reasonable?” He laughed. The ugly maniacal sound of it struck a chord of horror in Primrose that sent chills rippling down her spine. “It would have been easier if he’d died in Whitechapel. No one would have asked questions. But you. You, dear cousin, had to go and fetch him back to Scarborough Hall. You had to complicate things.”
“You’re reprehensible.” She retreated a step, the backs of her thighs coming in contact with the unyielding frame of Adam’s bed. A thousand thoughts fired through her brain at once. Scream. Tug the bellpull. Skirt him and run for the door.
Her gaze darted around the room for a weapon. Nothing was in grasp. If only she could get to the wardrobe and retrieve Adam’s pistol. Realistically she knew there was no time for that.
Hamish was upon her and before she could escape he snatched her by the throat and squeezed. She gasped for air. She clawed at his tenacious hands, feeling the sticky ooze of his blood under her nails. He forced her to bend backward over the bed, taking away her ability to kick at him effectively.
Wake up, Adam!
He intended to kill her and though she struggled, she was no match for his masculine strength.
Just as blackness obliterated her vision she heard the sickening sound of fists pummeling flesh, a grunt—and then she was free.
Clutching the bed she sank to her knees, desperately trying to draw a breath. Her vision cleared and she realized Benedict had come in through the connecting door to her room. He and Hamish traded blow for bone-crunching blow.
The pistol. She had to get to it.
Mustering every bit of determination she possessed, Primrose clambered to her feet and stumbled to the wardrobe. She flung open the doors and then hastily searched the first drawer. Nothing. The second was filled with his shirts. She raked them out like a dog digging to bury a prized bone and then her hand touched metal.
A wild mixture of fear and willpower shot through her like a lightning bolt. Rapid thoughts raced through her head. She’d never fired a pistol. It was heavy. So, so heavy. She glanced at Benedict, debating whether to pass it to him or attempt to fire it herself.
At that moment Benedict stumbled backward over a chair and sprawled on the floor. Hamish snatched the poker from the hearth and raised it with menacing intent.
Think! She’d seen this done. She just had to remember. Was the infernal thing even loaded?
Everything seemed to happen at once.
Hamish swung the poker. Benedict grunted in pain as he took the brunt of it with his arm.
Acting on instinct Primrose aimed the pistol, used both thumbs to cock the hammer and then she pulled back the trigger. The blast was deafening, followed by Hamish’s instantaneous yelp of pain.
The pistol kicked up and she reeled backward two steps. When the smoke faded, a bloodstain appeared on Hamish’s thigh, darker than the black of his trousers. Rabid, he spun and hobbled toward her, poker raised, his face mottled with angry, red splotches, his graying hair wild.
Primrose fumbled with the pistol but her inexperience made her too slow. Just as Hamish swung the poker toward her head, Benedict launched onto him from behind, yanking the iron bar away from Primrose and jerking it against Hamish’s throat.
A gruesome sound squeaked out of Hamish’s mouth. His eyes went wide and his tongue bulged from his purplish lips before his body sagged against Benedict. Hamish stopped clawing at the poker and his hands dropped to his sides.
Benedict released him and Hamish slumped to his knees. He heaved for breath.
Frozen, Primrose stood, still aiming the weapon at him. Benedict stepped around Hamish and eased the pistol out of Primrose’s hands. “Are you hurt?”
